


drawing hearts in lattes

by abderian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: All other characters are background, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Background Cashton, Barista!Harry, Cashton, Christmas, Fluff, Harry and Niall are the main focus, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:39:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abderian/pseuds/abderian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy is looking at him now, more specifically at the name badge attached to his apron, and Harry suddenly becomes completely aware of the specks of coffee that pattern his arm, and the stains on his shirt. He is aware that his hair is falling across his face, and that he really needs to redo the bun that he had been using to keep it back and away for hygienic reasons. He is aware of the droplets of sweat across his brow, and how his lips feel so dry but are probably red because he keeps licking at them. He is aware of the entrenched smell of coffee which lingers on him, a never ending perfume which invades his clothes, hair and skin. And he feels tired. So he forces his grin to his face.<br/><br/>“Well enjoy your coffee, and have a nice day.”<br/><br/>Harry turns away, grabbing the cloth and beginning to clean the work station. When he wanders out into the dining area to grab some dirty dishes and wipe down the tables he realises the boy is gone, and he finds himself slightly annoyed for the first time that he can’t remember a customer’s name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drawing hearts in lattes

His hair curled around the nape of his neck, stray stands falling out of the hastily pulled bun as he pressed the tamp down. His frustration showed as his arms strained, compacting the grind which was stubbornly fast, and the fresh grind which Harry had adjusted was still a few coffees away.

Pushing the group handle in the machine and pulling the shot, a tiny breath huffed from his lips as he noted the dark golden brown extraction, relieved that the espresso shot was, for this coffee at least, satisfactory. Eyes glancing across the orders, he noted a few asking for skim, and he pulled out the larger jug, cursing as he sloshed the cold milk across the floor and into his shoes.

Finally the milk was spinning, a thin layer of froth combing with the warming milk, and Harry reread the orders double checking. Medium skim latte, large skim cappuccino, skim piccolo, another skim cappuccino and finally a flat white. He then let his eyes drift to the next few orders, allowing a groan of annoyance as he noted the soy vanilla latte extra shot of coffee extra hot, with no fewer than three sugars. Why couldn’t everybody order the same generic cappuccino, all on full cream milk, all the same size.

The feeling of someone’s gaze tickled against his cheek, and Harry looked up, removing the milk from the steam wand, and tapping it against the bench top. A middle aged businessman was standing at the counter to the left of the coffee machine, agitatedly checking his watch and drumming his fingers against the counter. Forcing a smile to his face he handed over the gentleman’s flat white.

“Sorry about the wait, have a good day.” It was a generic pleasantry, one which he repeated more than twenty times a day to varied responses. Eye rolls, grimaces, whilst snatching the coffee and running off without so much as a word, or occasionally a snide comment about the wait and how it simply wasn’t good enough that Harry hadn’t ignored all the other orders to deal with theirs and theirs specifically because they were very busy and they had an appointment they had to get to yesterday.

Alternatively, he had those who gave him a small smile, thanked him for the coffee, before taking a sip and letting Harry know that it tasted amazing. That said they knew he was working as fast as he could and that Harry shouldn’t let those rude customers get to him. It was at these times that he felt his forced smile become genuine as he laughed and let the customers know he would see them tomorrow.

“Coffee out!” His voice echoed loud across the café, Louis’ head popping out from the kitchen behind where he had been washing the dishes to grab the completed order. Harry grimaced as Louis walked past him, seeing that the latte had a little too much froth and that the flat white had spilt over the side, leaving a dyed stain dripping down the ceramic cup.

He plunked another dine in coffee down, and the same call to action echoed through the store, though he knew that Liam was busy on the cash register, and Louis would take it out when he returned.

An Irish laugh only temporarily distracted him as he finally poured the soy vanilla latte, with way too many sugars and burnt milk. His eyes glanced up to see the boy leaning across the counter, chin resting on his hand and eyes burning with an unfound confidence in himself.

“That would be my coffee.”

The boy nodded at the soy latte Harry had just put the lid on.

“And come on, smile a little, don’t look so stressed. You’re so much prettier when you smile.”

As though to emphasise his point the blond allowed his face to light up with a wide smile, but Harry simply grimaced, pushing the coffee into his hand, mind already back to working out the next orders.

“Have a nice day.”

Harry was vaguely aware of the hesitation from the blond from the corner of his eye, but soon his peripheral narrowed, as he fell into the familiar rhythm. Click, click. Level. Tamp, tap, tamp, tap. Click, push. And then watch as the coffee extraction fell. Pour cold milk into jug. Spin milk. Pour. Repeat. For the next six hours.

* * *

 

“Peppermint Mocha? Peppermint Mocha for Niall!” Harry’s voice rang clear across the café, the defeated tone of frustration harmonising with the false projection of happiness for the sake of customer satisfaction. His pants were stiff and still slightly damp from a coffee that Liam had knocked over earlier, and his hands were littered with tiny burns because even with all his experience he still managed to knock the knob and turn the steam want on, spraying his hand with hot water and steam.

Thankfully the mocha was the last order of the rush, and the work station was a mess. Coffee grind and chocolate power coated the bench top, congealed with spilt milk and the splosh of tea. There was no point in trying to keep the area clean, rather he just hoped for a break in the storm that allowed him to quickly grab a damp cloth. It was almost therapeutic to see the area clutter free and sparkling after having been so grimy before.

“Peppermint Mocha! Niall? Niall?” He kept repeating the name, a line appearing between his brow and his fingers thrumming against the take away cup in impatience. If the coffee was cold by the time that it was picked up, he refused to make another one.

“Sorry, here. Love you the way you say my name too.”

Harry squinted, as a vaguely familiar figure stepped forward. But he quickly ignored the feeling of deja vu. It was a feeling he was quite familiar with, so many faces stepped through the doors of the café, and it took some time to remember them all. The first thing that was remembered was a face, then if they frequented the café often enough, their order was remembered, the last was always the name. There were customers whose names Harry had called out so many times, and it wasn’t until he put the face to the coffee that he recognised them.

Handing the coffee over, Harry felt the words tumble from his mouth.

“Why a peppermint mocha? I’ve never made one before, it’s a weird flavour if you ask me.”

The boy shrugged, taking a sip and Harry knew that it met the boy’s expectations. He could always tell, when the customer took that first sip, that scalded their tongue just a little, but the flavours swirled around their tongue. If they coffee had been made just right, the first sip was always the best, the serenade of the coffee crème and the soft lilt of smooth milk.

“This is really good.”

The boy smiled, and Harry noticed how he smiled with his entire face, blue eyes sparkling and his face crinkling, nose screwing up just a little, and he couldn’t help his own lips from quirking in response.

“As for the flavour, I dunno man. I just like trying different things, rarely have the same drink twice.”

The boy is looking at him now, more specifically at the name badge attached to his apron, and Harry suddenly becomes completely aware of the specks of coffee that pattern his arm, and the stains on his shirt. He is aware that his hair is falling across his face, and that he really needs to redo the bun that he had been using to keep it back and away for hygienic reasons. He is aware of the droplets of sweat across his brow, and how his lips feel so dry but are probably red because he keeps licking at them. He is aware of the entrenched smell of coffee which lingers on him, a never ending perfume which invades his clothes, hair and skin. And he feels tired. So he forces his grin to his face.

“Well enjoy your coffee, and have a nice day.”

Harry turns away, grabbing the cloth and beginning to clean the work station. When he wanders out into the dining area to grab some dirty dishes and wipe down the tables he realises the boy is gone, and he finds himself slightly annoyed for the first time that he can’t remember a customer’s name.

* * *

 

It was a Tuesday, arguably the quietest day of the week, and Harry had agreed to supervise and train the new barista. A new barista would mean he didn’t have to work as many days, and with his exams coming up, that was a welcome relief. Juggling work with a university degree was something that weighed on his mind most days. Work sometimes impeded on his ability to study, but at the same time he needed the money from work to be able to study. It was an irony that he had simply accepted. Besides, he had always been able to write a perfectly sound essay up within the span of the last possible hours before it was due, so he had managed.

But this new guy was starting to give him a headache. How anyone could be so bright and happy so early in the morning was beyond him, but the guy had practically bounced over, dimples on his cheeks from a wide smile, before introducing himself with a broad Australian accent as Ashton.

Harry quickly discovered that the Australian was never still, his fingers constantly drumming against the counter, but his genuine enthusiasm had quickly won over the morning crowd the elderly ladies practically cooing as they accepted their coffees, handed over with a bright smile and a compliment.

As the morning rush started to die, Harry noticed one of their regulars walk through the door. He explained the order to Ashton, telling his new co-worker that the customer, Calum if his memory served correctly, was probably one of the best people to make his first coffee for, because the customer was pretty easy going, plus his order was just a simple cappuccino.

Ashton just nodded, his face slipping from a smile for the first time that day, before Harry noted a sly twinkle and smirk that in retrospect he probably should have acknowledged. But he didn’t, moving to the register to serve Calum.

“Hey, just your usual, that’s $4.60.”

Calum already had the money out, and Harry quickly handed him back the change before turning back to watch Ashton complete the coffee.

To his relief he saw the milk was smooth and that the coffee shot had run right. So many people had applied in the past, boasting of barista experience, but they were quickly let go when it became apparent that their milk was always bubbly and their shots ran too fast leaving them bitter to the taste.

As Ashton handed Calum the coffee with a smile, Harry saw the numbers scrawled under his co-workers long fingers, and he stifled a groan. Waiting until there were no customers near the counter, he grabbed Ashton by the arm and pulled him aside.

“Did you just write your number on his cup?”

The Australian boy shrugged, “I might have, he was cute what can I say.”

“This is not some story set in a coffee shop, you can’t just go and give your number out to customers. It’s unprofessional. Plus what if he takes it the wrong way, he could even file a harassment claim, or decide to take his business elsewhere. Just don’t do it again okay.”

Harry’s lecture was broken by the buzz of Ashton’s phone, and as the other boy fished it out of his pocket, he sent a smirk at Harry.

“Alright I promise I won’t do it again.”

He said, waving the phone at Harry showing Calum’s text. Massaging his nose, Harry grunted out.

“No phones on the job, put it away and back to work.

* * *

 

Niall. For some reason the name actually stuck in his mind this time as he called out the order for the piccolo latte. He had spotted the blond as he wandered up to the counter to order, and as the slip of paper was pushed onto the machine he read the name first. Niall, Niall, Niall. He was going to remember it, especially as seeing as remembering the order was impossible, the boy having changed his order for the third time this week.

He didn’t even get a chance to say the name before the blond boy was in front of him, practically bouncing on his feet.

“Thanks Harry.” Those words were all he said, fingers nimbly grasping the small take away cup, his touch gently brushing along Harry’s calloused fingers and he was gone.

“See you later Niall.” For once Harry’s voice was genuine, carrying across the store the catch the smaller boy before he walked out the door. The only acknowledgement was a cheeky wave, and Harry was left staring at the swinging door, a goofy grin on his face as he heard it slam shut. He had remembered his name.

There was a gentle nudge against his back, and he turned to see Louis looking at him with a smug smirk, before tilting his head toward both the coffee machine and the impatient looking customers that were waiting for their caffeine fix.

As he grabbed the milk jug, Harry was surprised at how light it felt in his hands, at the bubbles of delight he felt as he watched it spin smoothly. He hadn’t felt such a childlike fascination with his work for months, after the initial love had worn off and it had become simple work. But as he poured the latte for the women who was clicking away at her phone, painted lips pursed in annoyance, he couldn’t help but twist his wrist and watch as a love heart bloomed through the froth. He used to love latte art, the creation of shapes and images using just coffee and milk, but he had lost inspiration after countless coughs and grunts, sniffs and sighs of impatient customers.

Louis once again walked behind him, a breathless laugh passing through his lips as he caught sight of the love heart before Harry could cover it with a lid.

When they finally wound down for the day, flipping the lock on the door, embracing the quiet serenity that only a closed café can offer, did Louis speak.

“So, you know I don’t think I can remember the last time you bothered to talk to someone outside of your robotic ‘enjoy your coffee have a nice day.” His voice slipped, mimicking the slow drawl of Harry’s Cheshire accent, nudging the barista with his shoulder as he carried some plates into the kitchen to be washed.

Harry flicked his hair, finally free from the band that now encircled his wrist, working at cleaning the coffee grinder with a small paintbrush. “I have no idea what you are talking about Louis.”

It was just the two of them in the shop, Liam had finished his shift an hour earlier, and Jade had checked out around lunchtime, leaving Harry alone with Louis and his teasing. And Harry had known it was coming, throwing a pleading look as Liam had removed his apron, apologising but that he needed to go and pick up his mum from the airport. The moment Liam had walked out the door, Louis had focused his blue eyes on Harry, with a laser clear focus.

“Please, Liam talks to everyone, he is cordially polite, exchanges genuine pleasantries, and everyone adores him. Jade bounces around the store, somehow remembers everyone’s names, and is possibly a little loud but the customers don’t mind, plus the kids all adore her. Then we have Ashton, who I’m still not convinced isn’t an alien, because that guy is happy, he already knows more people that I do and he has barely been here a week. I could go on, but the point is Harry, they aren’t you. You smile, you say hi, but you don’t really mean it, not anymore. You used to be genuine but you’ve just gone through the generic customer service motions this past month. But today you literally yelled after a customer, putting an emphasis on his name, and then you were making latte hearts all afternoon. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

Harry’s wrist moved with a flourish, scrubbing against the last stubborn stain on the counter, refusing the answer his best friend.

Flinging the cloth into the bin, and throwing one final look over the café, Harry smiled brightly at Louis.

“Looks like my work is finished, and look at that, I need to go now otherwise I’m going to be late for my night class.”

Louis just shook his head, a gentle smile on his face as Harry grabbed his bag, books poking out of the zip and rushed out the door. He knew that Harry was never going to admit it, the boy was stubborn and determined, but Louis knew that eventually Harry would have to accept that he was acting different, and it was all because of a certain blond customer.

* * *

 

He was flustered, lips bitten and cracked, his eyes slightly red and his face pale. There were dark smudges beneath his blue eyes, making the usually bright colour appear overcast and distant. The smile on his face was subtle, weary, and yet Harry still felt the genuine warmth as Niall leaned against the counter to make his order.

“Just a double shot espresso, thanks Harry.” Niall shifts, adjusting the heavy bag slung across his shoulders, forehead furrowing before adding, “Actually, I’ll have it here today thanks.”

Ringing up the order, he nodded the shorter boy toward a table in a quiet corner. It was his favourite spot in the café, a soft and worn armchair nestled against a small wooden table. It was softly lit by a wall scone, the brass slightly tarnished but the glow bright and warm, removed enough that there was no noise from the thoroughfare to the counter, and yet near enough to a window that one could lose themselves staring and watching the leaves drift through the autumn breeze, fingers clasped warmly around their coffee. Niall simply raised an eyebrow, but tilted his head and followed Harry’s direction. Instantly the boy seemed to relax, a soft smile over his shoulder at the barista as he ambled over to the table, shoulder constantly tensing at the weight of the bag.

Making a double espresso was easy, Harry only had to pull the shot and wait, and he allowed himself to quickly check on the rest of the staff. It had been a quiet day, Liam was over in the corner, wiping down some tables, a gentle smile on his face as he talked to the elderly Betty, a lovely women who always smelt of cookies that had been coming to the café every day for as long as he could remember. He could hear the rapid fire talk of Jade and Ashton in the back, and he quickly tuned it out, his head aching at the clash of Geordie and Australian tones.

The tell-tale click of the pressure releasing caught his ear, and he nimbly picked up the tiny mug, holding it gently in his fingers as he placed it on its saucer, deciding that he would leave his two co-workers to talk and bring the coffee to Niall himself. With a glance at the counter to make sure there were no customers waiting, he walked toward the corner.

Niall had already spread out, bag thrown haphazardly against the armchair, with a pile of textbooks sitting next to an open computer, another opened on Niall’s lap, his eyes rapidly twitching back and forth too fast to be reading and understanding the tiny font. The boy barely even reacted as Harry placed the espresso down, chewing on his lip, his knee bounding anxiously.

International Law.

Those were the words sprawled down the spines of each of the books, hidden in longer titles, or in a different order, but international and law were always present. Harry tilted his head, surveying Niall with a greater understanding but at the same time realising that he barely knew the boy in front of him, he didn’t even know what coffee that the Irish boy was going to order each day.

“I didn’t know you studied law.” The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them, and he managed not to cringe as Niall looked up at him, eyes dancing with laughter. At least, Harry thought, his mistimed comment had cleared up the storm that had been clouded the blue.

“I wouldn’t expect you too, I don’t really advertise it, bit of a stigma associated with studying law you know.” He laughed, hand brushing through his blond hair, messing up the back and leaving it fluffy.

Now it was Harry’s turn to smirk, leaning against the armchair. “Yeah you’re right, the preconceived ideas about studying law meaning sleepless nights and endless reading, living on coffee and trying to write,” he glanced at the laptop screen, where a half finished essay already sat at four thousand words, “ridiculously long essays are obviously all false.”

Niall laughed, and it was so ridiculously bright and honest that Harry felt his own cheeks tug into a smile in response.

“Okay you got me there. Nah, I mean the whole idea about law students being snobby and thinking they are better than everyone else. Man, you tell someone you’re a law student they expect you to be smart and put together, and then you have me and I don’t have a filter, and it doesn’t exactly fit so I just don’t let people know.”

Harry took in Niall, the scuffed up shoes, the tight jeans and that loud button up top which was covered in what Harry assumed was dinosaurs, the blond hair that was darkening at the roots, and indication that Niall needed to touch up his hair dye, and the eyes which seemed permanently crinkled with laughter at the edges and he agreed. Niall just did not match the stereotypical law student. He was pulled from his observations by the lilt of Niall’s voice, falling away with a question that Harry had missed. Realising that the barista had not been listening Niall spoke again.

“So what do you study?”

Harry’s brow furrowed, confused as to how Niall could even know that he studied anything, but when he asked Niall just simply smiled that infuriatingly bright smile.

“Sometimes when I come here you are in class, and Ashton will talk about just about anything. Honestly. It’s impressive that he can make coffee whilst having a conversation with you and not destroy everything. I’ve seen you Harry, if you tried to talk whilst making coffee you would spill the milk, knock over the coffee shot and probably manage to set the café on fire.”

Harry groaned, but couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth in the words. He had never made it through an entire shift without somehow knocking something over.

“I also had a good chat with Louis one day, he bought my order out and asked me how my day was and somehow we ended up talking about you. He was actually quite eager to tell me some stories, seemed like you and him had some good craic in the past.”

At this Harry actually buried his head in his hands, vowing to call Louis immediately after his shift ended to demand to know word for word what his friend had said.

“Harry, there is some coffee, can you come back and make it.” The loud female voice carried across the quiet corner, and Harry silently thanked Jade as he lifted his hand in acknowledgement and nodded to Niall, glad to be able to have a chance to exit before his cheeks could grow any hotter.

* * *

 

Harry tied the apron around his waist, ambling slowly from the kitchen where he had just finished taking his break. Liam looked at him appreciating as he stepped away from the coffee machine. The older boy could make decent coffee, but he hated the pressure that was associated with it, so he only agreed to step up as barista for short periods of times to allow the rostered barista a short break.

“Where’s Louis?” He asked, eyes darting along the counter looking for the suspiciously quiet boy.

“His out there taking an order, the customer came in on crutches so Louis decided to help him to a seat and get his order to make it easier on him. But it looks like his having a conversation instead.” Liam shrugged helplessly, indicating to where Louis was leaning against the table in Harry’s favourite corner. Suddenly, a bright and familiar laugh echoed across the store and Harry groaned, wanting nothing more than to run across the café and pull Louis away from Niall to prevent any potential damage his best friend could do. And then his eyes landed on the dull grey crutches leaning against the back of the armchair, and Niall’s knee tightly ensnared in a black brace.

“I’ll be right back.” He mumbled, leaving Liam to serve the next customer.

He could hear the end of a story that sounded suspiciously like the time that he had ended up drunk and dancing on the table at the local pub. Harry knew that Louis had video evidence of it somewhere, and was glad that the other boy never remembered to charge his phone, and that phones were not permitted at work. He also noticed that Louis failed to mention that Harry had fallen off the table and ended up with a concussion, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he supposed that he would prefer Niall frowning with some sympathy instead of that stupid laugh that made his stomach dance with nerves.

He gently eased himself between Louis and Niall, the pair sharing a knowing look, and Harry found himself grumpily slumping at the silent laughter between blue eyes. His hand flittered gently down to rest on Niall’s shoulder, his long fingers draping gently against his collarbone.

“What did you do Niall?” He asked, eyes flicking toward the tightly bound knee.

Niall’s cheeks flushed red, and Harry was reminded of an apple for some reason, as the blush coloured Niall’s round face.

“It’s so stupid,” He laughed, fingers brushing through his hair nervously, and Harry subconsciously tightened his grip on Niall’s shoulder, able to feel the gentle thrum of the other boy’s heart through his fingertips. From the corner of his eye he saw Louis wander away, a gentle murmur toward Harry to ask Niall what coffee he wanted when he finished.

“I don’t care if it’s stupid, just tell me.”

“Okay, well I have a bunged up knee, really should get surgery on it if I’m honest, but usually its okay. Until it’s not, Jesus, it’s literally the stupidest reason, but I dropped a pen and when I knelt to pick it up my knee popped in and out of place, like instant dislocation and relocation. But yeah, basically it’s fucked at the moment and it’s all because of a pen.”

Harry laughed. A genuine, loud, echoing, head thrown back, hair brushing the back of his neck, mouth open, eyes closed, laugh. Niall felt his eyes crinkle, and suddenly they were both laughing, over the ridiculousness of a pen.

“I’ll tell you what, your coffee is on the house today. What would you like and I’ll go and make it up now.”

Niall shrugged, a tiny crease appearing between his eyebrows and he shifted in his seat.

“You choose, I’m not fussy when it comes to coffee, so just make me something you think I’ll like.”

Squeezing Niall’s shoulder one last time, Harry ambled back to the coffee machine, potential ideas firing through his mind. Finally he settled on making an affogato. He had always loved the way the name rolled off the tongue, and the mix of ice-cream and coffee shot would appease both Niall’s sweet tooth and coffee addiction. Besides, Harry’s mother had always sworn by the healing powers of ice-cream. As a kid, every cold, scrapped knee, broken arm, had been meet with a bowl of ice-cream and a gentle hug, his mother placing a kiss upon his forehead telling him to feel better.

As he walked past the smirking Louis, he gave him the finger, hand resting low and out of sight of any customers who might see the inappropriate behaviour, but in plain view of Louis who simply laughed and disappeared into the kitchen to finish baking some more muffins for the display.

As he poured the coffee shot over the ice-cream, he looked up to the sounds of the doors opening, and a rambunctious party walking up to the counter, cheeks flushed from the cold breeze outside and hands stuffed into their pockets. Regretfully he called Louis out to take the finished coffee to Niall, as he prepared himself for the rush that was about to occur.

* * *

 

The smell of coffee and freshly baked gingerbread danced around the café, strands of holly contrasted with the wooden panels, and a Christmas tree gently twinkled in the corner. The serenity of the lights was contrasted with the flurry of people, customers rushing about, the door flung open and closed constantly, a trudge melted snow painting the floorboards.

Louis had tacked a piece of mistletoe above the door, and Harry was slowly growing sick of the couples stopping, door open as the snow swirled in and leeched the warmth, to gently press a tender kiss against each other’s lips.

The cold slipped through again, as Harry heard the heavy door grind against the floor, before it was quickly closed, and hurried footsteps approached the counter, a low grumbling voice complaining between harsh coughs.

Harry looked up as the steps came closer to the entrance behind the counter, and found himself staring at an unnaturally pale, and unnaturally grumpy Ashton. Eyes flicking the clock, Harry saw that his shift was meant to finish in just under five minutes, but the Australian boy looked like he should be in bed, and Harry actually felt worry twist in his stomach as the boy wavered where he was standing before steadying himself to cough.

“It’s this fucking snow. I’m used to Christmas being at the beach in like forty degree days, not below freezing.” He wheezed as he slipped his jacket off.

The door scrapped open again, and a loud and familiar voice called out to them, “I thought I told you to call in sick.”

Ashton actually paled further, stepping to hide behind Harry, who simply chuckled as he nodded in acknowledgement of Calum.

“You know I can’t just not work babe, it’s not fair on Harry, plus it’s the festive period, its ridiculously busy, calling in sick with no notice isn’t an option.” Ashton coughed again, and Harry could feel the heat and misery as the younger boy rested against his back, still hiding from his boyfriend.

“Go home Ashton, I can cover your shift today, I don’t have any place to be, besides, no offence, you look like shit.”

It was a true sign that he was sick that Ashton gave in without a fight, linking his hand with Calum and walking out the door.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of orders, and Harry barely looked at the clock again until it was time to close. He was the last one left in the shop, Jade having flounced past with a gentle kiss on the cheek as she was out the door, and Liam clapping him on the shoulder, making sure that Harry was okay to finish up by himself.

Harry rested against the counter, looking around the place that may as well be his home, the vibe of the entire café was so entrenched in his being that the aroma of coffee was constantly curled against his skin, and his own apartment had taken ques from the wooden décor and old brass embellishments.

There was a soft knock against the locked door, causing Harry to crease his brow in confusion. But he could vaguely recognise the soft silhouette through the frosted glass, and he moved to open the door.

Niall stood framed in the door, cheeks kissed red with snow, his nose and ears pink with cold. The tips of his blond hair splayed against his forehead, hidden in a grey beanie, a matching scarf twisted around his neck, and gloves covering his fingers.

His blue eyes seemed lighter, reflecting the swirling snowflakes, and Harry could hear the distant sound of carollers singing about a silent night. And then he realised that Niall wasn’t looking at him, but at the spot just above his head.

“Mistletoe.” Niall breathed out, as he leaned forward, rocking up on his toes, and his gloved hand twisting into Harry’s. The rough wool slid against his skin, and Harry closed his hand tighter, not wanting to let go, feeling how the hand fit so perfectly against his palm.

His heart was beating, thrumming, and he could see everything so vividly. How Niall’s eyes held the tiniest amount of green, barely noticeable. How the blue was fragmented, some streaks of periwinkle and some streaks of royal, mixing together to create a colour that was too bright, and too open, holding no secrets and showing Harry everything he needed to know.

He could count the tiny snowflakes that had drifted onto Niall’s eyelashes, and his eyes rested on those pink lips, slightly parted as Niall inhaled.

And then Harry’s fingers were threading though Niall’s hair, dragging through the strands in the same way that Niall did whenever he was nervous. Niall’s smaller body was pressed tight against his chest, Harry leaning down to press his lips against the blond boy.

The kiss was like coffee, it sent warmth right through his body, a thrumming of energy through his veins.

Their fingers remained entwined, neither letting go, as they slowly opened their eyes, foreheads resting together, and simply breathing in each other’s air.

“Louis told you he put mistletoe there didn’t he.” Harry breathed, slowly running his thumb across the back of Niall’s gloved hand.

The laughter this time was quieter, breathless, Niall’s eyes crinkling as he dipped his head.

“Said he was sick of you drawing hearts in lattes, and decided to try and do something about it.”

Using his empty hand, Harry pulled at Niall’s chin, looking at him, those pale cheeks now flushed with more than snow and cold.

“I’m glad he did.” And Harry pressed his lips to Niall’s once more.


End file.
